The Kristina Melina Omnibus: First Kill, Second Cut, Third Victim

by Laurent Boulanger

  I followed him inside room 23.

  The body lay on his back. It was Goosh, all right, no doubt. He was still dressed in his Italian-design business suit, his stomach protruding from his blue shirt. I tried to distant myself from what I was seeing.

  Back on the job.

  That’s all it was.

  Just a job.

  Goosh’s face was dark red with blotches of blue and purple in various places. There was bruising around the neck from the sheets he used to hang himself. An overturned chair lay next to him. A straight forward scenario. A stupid and sad way to die. Alone in a motel room, away from everyone and everything. I tried hard not to feel sorry for him. I’d done enough soul searching on my way here.

  ‘Is that how you found him?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he was hanging from the ceiling,’ Frank replied.

  ‘Who moved him?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you were too fuckin’ long.’

  I placed the PERK on the floor, unlocked the latches and retrieved a pair of surgical gloves. I glanced around the room. Cheap furniture, vomit-green carpet, a television set screwed to the wall so that no one mistakes it for their own, unused coffee cups, coffee bags, tea bags, sugar bags, an plastic electric jug, a telephone, a large mirror, two side tables, two side lamps, an en suite in the far corner. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. The rooms matched the style of the motel - cheap and nasty. Goosh was full of money, so why did he end up here?

  ‘Did you touch anything else than the body?’ I asked Frank.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good.’

  I retrieved the Minolta from the PERK, loaded a new colour film and shoot an entire roll of the room. Nothing was disturbed, not even the bed. It looks as if Goosh had only entered the place to hang himself. In my notebook, I took details of the shots, including film speed and filters used.

  Frank was beside the body, scrutinising it while I re-loaded a new film in the camera.

  ‘Do you know much about hanging?’ he asked, his attention focused on Goosh’s neck area.

  ‘Enough to know what’s what? Why do you ask?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  People do not hang themselves by accident, at least not commonly. And homicidal hanging is also very rare. Being the second most common method of suicide, it was easy to see why everyone had assumed Goosh had ended his own life.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m right on this,’ Frank said, ‘but does the bruising around his neck look like the type you’d expect from someone who hung himself?’

  ‘Hold on a sec,’ I said.

  Gently, I rolled the body to its side. He was a heavy man, and I hated to be one of the two people who’d have to carry him out of the motel on a stretcher.

  I traced the bruising with my finger while commenting, ‘See, when a person hangs themselves, the rope causes a bruise in the form of an inverted ‘V’ on the neck. The veins are compressed by the rope, in Goosh’s case the sheets, and pressure inside the head cause small bleeding sites. The face and neck are congested, which is why he is so discoloured.’

  ‘Yeah, but is this suicide?’

  ‘Take a look at the bruising around the neck.’

  Frank followed my finger.

  ‘A straight line,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘When a person is strangled, the bruising is in a straight line. Look at the back of the neck.’

  I was showing him a section just below the cranium which had excessive bruising.

  ‘This was not caused by the sheets he used to hang himself,’ I went on. ‘The killer has used much more force that was necessary to kill Goosh. That’s explains the deep bruising and contusions in this area of the neck.’ I paused and added, ‘Let’s turn him around.’

  Frank helped me to place Goosh on his back.

  I passed one hand on Goosh’s neck and felt his thyroid. It was lose.

  ‘When someone is manually strangulated,’ I explained, ‘the victim usually puts on a fight, resulting in a lot of struggling and squeezing. This in turns causes damage to the internal and external structure of the neck. In such a case, the thyroid cartilage has been fractured. Exactly what has happened here.’

  ‘Sonofabitch,’ Frank said.

  ‘There you have it, a clear case of someone trying to get rid of evidence - or more precisely, someone who knows too much. Do you still think I’m imagining things?’

  ‘I never said you were, Kristina. That’s why I told you to get away from Melbourne. I know I’m not going to hang around.’

  We spent the next two hours collecting forensic evidence, including trace evidence of all sorts - carpet fibre, dirt, and everything that was virtually invisible to the eye. I packaged everything in paper rather than plastic to avoid mould growth from a wet or moist exhibit. Appropriate labels were attached to each items, identifying the case number, the item number and a brief description of what the items were.

  I collected trace evidence with adhesive lifts and vacuum-sweepings. Blood stains on Goosh’s clothes were collected by cutting samples and placing them in a folded piece of paper. The folder paper was subsequently placed in a labelled plastic bag. Other blood stains were scraped off with a clean scalpel, or sponged up with a wet cloth.

  During the entire procedure, I continued to take photographs of anything which looked suspicious. I also entered accurate details in my log book.

  Paper bags were placed on Goosh’s hands to protect trace evidence which might have been caught under his nails or on the surface of his hands.

  By the time we finished, the coroner arrived and whisked the body away to the morgue for the obligatory autopsy, which I had already decided I would not attend. Goosh had been a work colleague, whether I liked it or not, and I’ve had had enough from having watched Evelyn Carter’s autopsy a few weeks back. It seems that everyone I knew was getting killed. Who was going to be next? Me? Frank? Michael?

  When we left the motel, the rain had stopped and the sun appeared shyly between the clouds. I felt light-headed, almost relieved. Now that the shock of Goosh’s death had passed, I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad that he had left my life. One thing was certain - I would never have to put up with his chauvinistic attitude again. But death was still not something I would have wished on him, no matter how much he aggravated me.

  I returned the PERK to boot of my car.

  Frank was following closely behind.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve had enough for one day. We can work on the preliminary report tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  My clothes had dried on me, but I could smell a mixture of dampness and sweat. I passed one hand though my hair. It was limply and dull.

  I stepped in the car and inserted the keys in the ignition.

  Frank was standing by the driver’s door.

  I wound the window down, ‘What’s up now?’

  ‘We need to have a serious talk when we get to my place,’ he said.

  ‘I know.’

  I watched him walk to his car. He looked older now that he ever had. He seemed to have lost more hair. His crown didn’t help either. I wondered why he never bothered shaving it all off. He would have looked a hundred times better.

  As I was watching him walking away, I felt this vacuum inside me. What would I do if something every happened to him? All the years we’ve been working together, I’ve always taken him for granted, even though he had always been so nice and considerate to me.

  I pulled into Princess Highway and jumped into the right lane.

  Frank was following me close behind.

  He probably always did, but I never really noticed until now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘I don’t care what you do,’ Frank said, slamming the palm of his hand on the table, ‘he’s coming with me to Sydney.’

  One side of me wanted to argue with him, and the other saw the reasoning behind his decision. I, too, feared f
or Michael’s life as well as Frank’s and mine.

  We were sitting at the kitchen table over coffee. Michael was in front of the PlayStation. Sometimes things never seemed to change. I could have sworn I had been there before, arguing with Frank about what was best for Michael, while Michael was playing his game console in front of the television. Déjà vu to the max. My life was beginning to take on a circular pattern, and if the Lord of the Karma was right, this pattern would continue to re-occur throughout me life until I’ve learned my lesson and moved on. Problem was that I had no idea what the hell my lesson was suppose to be. Whoever had invented life forgot to enclose an owner’s manual with it.

  ‘What about his school?’ I said for the sake of arguing. ‘Isn’t he behind enough as it is?’

  ‘His school is nothing compared to his life,’ Frank said. ‘It’s no good going to school if you’re dead.’

  ‘Come on, Frank, you’re scaring me.’

  ‘Why? Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I’m going to stay here and wait for someone to break into my home and put a rope around my neck? You’re crazy, Kristina, you have to come with us.’

  ‘We don’t know if that’s what happened to Goosh.’ Of course we knew. The forensic evidence pointed squarely in that direction, weakening my stance to the point of sounding like a moron.

  ‘No, but I’m not going to stand here and wait to find out,’ Frank said.

  I stood from my chair. ‘Look, you do what you have to do, but don’t ask me to come with you. You know it’s not going to happen. Give me another week. If in seven days I haven’t made any progress, I’ll come and join you. Promise.’

  ‘Sure, but it doesn’t matter, because whatever I say, you’re going to go ahead and do what you want anyway. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not going to change.’

  That much he had right.

  They decided to leave that same night. I was to drive them to Melbourne Airport in Tullamarine. The plane was living at 11.20 p.m., and it would only take an hour to get to Sydney. Their motel was had been booked ahead on the other side, so the only thing they’d have to do is jump on a cab and try to get some sleep. I doubted they would after everything that had occurred that day.

  As I helped Michael pack up his belongings, I wondered if I had made the right decision by sending him away. I certainly would feel more secured about his safety, there was no doubt about it. Still, I had never separated myself from him, and not seeing him for a week was going to be the longest time we’d be apart.

  ‘This is so cool,’ Michael said. ‘Hey, your job is not that bad after all. I get to travel in the middle of the year.’

  ‘Come on, Michael, you know it’s not a holiday - I just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t mind going away for a little while, do you?’

  ‘Nope, I hate school, anyway.’

  ‘That much I know.’

  I zipped up his back pack.

  ‘I’m going to miss you, you know,’ I said.

  He just stared at me for a little while.

  ‘I know,’ he finally said and gave me a hug.

  I wanted to cry but I held me tears back.

  ‘I love you, mum, you know I love you.’

  ‘I know, darling.’

  He was the sweetest man in my life, and he probably didn’t even know.

  We ate Double Whoppers with cheese at the airport’s Hungry Jack. Flight QF479 to Sydney was not due for another half hour, and we never bothered with dinner back in Richmond from fear of missing the flight. It’s started raining again on the way to the airport, but then it never really completely stopped since that morning. I was dying for endless days of sunshine, where I’d have no obligations other than sitting at the beach with a good book. But unfortunately, I had no idea as to how I was going to achieve my goal. Whenever I get out of this mess, I told myself, I’m going to make sure my wish doesn’t remain an unattainable dream.

  A copy of Matthew Condon’s The Pillow Fight sat on the table next to me. I bought it for Frank at the airport’s bookshop as a thank-you gift for taking care of Michael, and also to show him that he wasn’t missing out on much by not being married. The novel shows the sad but all-too-common situation of domestic violence, but this time the husband is on the receiving end.

  ‘You take care of the preliminary report of Goosh’s murder,’ Frank said and took a bite from his hamburger. ‘I’ve left my log book on my desk. If you need additional information, or your details are too sketchy, feel free to look through it.’

  The log book was to the crime-scene examiner what the car was to the taxi driver. Without a log book, exhibits presented as evidence or testimony in a court of law would be disputed and more than likely rendered inadmissible. The log book served as part of the chain of continuity of collected exhibits.

  With a napkin, I whipped off a sauce stain from Frank’s shirt. He just looked at me doing it, nor surprised, nor angry. We were both feeling the weight of his departure and the fear of not knowing for sure when we would see each other again. It was tearing me apart, but I choose to remain in control of my churning emotions in front of Michael. The last I needed was to break down and make their departure hell for all of us.

  Michael was eating his fries at a hundred miles an hour, as if someone was going to take them away from him. As soon as he finished his serving, he began digging into mine. I didn’t stop him. He could have had the whole lot if he wanted to. I found it hard to swallow food at all.

  ‘What about your side of the story?’ I asked Frank. ‘I wasn’t present at the crime scene from the beginning. What if everything I need is not in the log book?’

  ‘I’ll fax you any details you need for your report. Just call me on the mobile.’

  ‘How am I going to explain my presence at the crime scene when I’d been ordered to step down?’

  ‘I haven’t told you.’

  ‘You haven’t told me what?’

  ‘Did you get a letter from the VFSC telling you that your services were no longer required?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Good, then you don’t know anything, and I forgot to tell you.’

  That was a change. Usually Frank wanted to do everything by the book, especially when I was the one who broke any of the rules. Not that I was complaining about his change of tactic. It suited my agenda perfectly.

  Half way through my hamburger, the mobile went off. It was John Darcy from the lab.

  ‘I’ve the results you wanted,’ he said.

  I checked my watch: 11.05 p.m.

  ‘You’re working late,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve had a shit-load of work that’s been dumped on me this afternoon. I had to wait to do the test. I’m still at the lab.’

  I thought about his wife, and of how his current working situation wasn’t going to help them renew their marriage vows.

  ‘That’s the DNA test?’ I asked. ‘David’s hair?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Frank threw me an inquisitive glance. I had never told him that I took a sample of David’s hair and gave it to John for a DNA comparison test with the semen found inside Evelyn’s uterus. I knew he would have been angry, so I’d decided to by-pass his expert’s opinion on the subject.

  ‘So what have you got?’ I asked, feeling my heart beating like a kettledrum.

  ‘Well, if you’re really fucking this guy, as you put it this morning, then you better be sitting down.’ He paused for effect. ‘It’s a perfect match.’

  I felt a pain in my chest. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure as anything. I conducted the test twice. I can send you copies of the polymorphic sequences autoradiographs.’

  ‘That’s won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Okay then, was that useful?’

  ‘You bet.’

  I pushed the NO on the mobile and swallowed my saliva.

  There was no way in the world I was going to be able to have another bite of anything.

  The first word t
hat came to mind was ‘betrayed’.

  Then ‘fear’.

  Then ‘murder’.

  Then ‘shit’.

  ‘What going on?’ Frank asked, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Just a friend,’ I lied.

  ‘A friend? That’s the DNA test? David’s hair?’ Frank put his burger down. ‘What the hell is going on Kristina?’

  I checked my watch and said, ‘It’s 11.15. Your plane is going in five minutes. Come on we better get going. I’ll give you a call and let you know.’

  I stood from my chair without giving them a choice, grabbed Michael’s back-pack, and began pacing towards Gate 1.

  ‘Hey, hold on a sec,’ Frank yelled out.

  ‘Mum,’ Michael said.

  They finally caught up with me.

  My legs were like rubber. I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to stand on my feet.

  ‘Okay, okay, fine,’ Frank said, ‘you don’t have to tell me shit. But you better not be putting yourself in danger. Has that got anything to do with this guy from the bookshop?’

  ‘Not now, Frank,’ I said. ‘I told you I was going to let you know.’ Then I pointed towards Gate 1. ‘Look everyone is already boarding. Come on, quick, you’re going to miss your place.’

  We passed a metal detector. Just as well I’d left my handgun in the glove compartment of my car. The last thing I need was being tackled to the floor by a hundred-and-twenty pound security guard, his knee jabbing at my collarbone and his gun aiming at the back of my head.

  We all hurried to the gate lounge. Travellers were already queuing for boarding.

  When we got there, I gave Michael a big hug, ‘I love you, honey. You take care of yourself, and if you want to call me, call me any time on the mobile.’

  ‘I love you too, mum.’ He kissed me on the cheek.

  Frank gave hugged me. I never realised how his cigarette smell had been such a comfortable thing. ‘Don’t do anything silly,’ he said. ‘You’re the best friend I’ve got, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering where I went wrong.’